Welcome back to the Deep Dive. Today is Monday,
February 2nd, 2026, and I want to start by just
pointing out something that feels a little strange,
a little meta. You're talking about the fact
that we're a podcasting. Talking about podcasting.
Exactly. It's a snake eating its own tail, right?
You, the listener, are currently plugged into
this feed, or let's be honest, about the year
we're in, you're probably watching this on a
screen, and you're consuming a deep dive about
the very system, the... the architecture that
allows this to even exist we're turning the microscope
back on ourselves we are and we really have to
because the word podcasting in 2026 means something
completely different from what it meant 20 years
ago our mission today is to figure out How this
weird portmanteau, a mix of a specific Apple
device and an old radio term, somehow managed
to conquer the world. And it really did conquer
the world. It went from this tiny, almost hidden
audio blogging niche for tech nerds to, as you
said, a video -dominated industry. It's a wild
ride. It is. And for this, we've gone deep into
the sources. We're primarily pulling from the
really comprehensive Wikipedia archives, looking
at everything up to 2025 to build out this history.
We want to look at the name, the tech, the...
The really vicious legal wars. The legal wars
are a story in themselves. I mean, the fact that
this medium even survived the patent trolls is,
frankly, a minor miracle. It came so close to
being strangled in its grip. And that's a key
theme for us today. This whole idea of democratization.
The open RSS feed versus the corporate gatekeepers
who tried and failed to lock it all down. It's
a story of the open Internet, really. But I think
we have to start with the present day. We have
to start with the elephant in the room. The 4K
camera staring at us. Exactly. What even is a
podcast in 2026? Because the old definition just
doesn't work anymore. It's functionally useless.
If you'd asked me 10 years ago, let's say 2016,
I'd have said, oh, it's a downloadable audio
file you get through an RSS feed. End of story.
Simple, clean, technically accurate. But today
I was looking at a Bloomberg report from last
year, 2025, and the number it gave was just staggering.
It said a billion people. A billion with a B.
A billion people were watching podcasts on YouTube.
Every single month. Think about that. That's
not a niche audience. That's a fundamental shift
in how people are consuming media. The primary
way a huge chunk of the world experiences this
audio medium is now visual. It changes everything.
The entire promise of podcasting for the first
two decades was that it was something you did
while your eyes were busy. Driving, doing the
dishes, walking the dog at the gym. It was the
ultimate secondary activity. It fit into the
cracks of your day. But now it's demanding your
full attention. It's demanding your eyes. And
that creates this huge tension, doesn't it? A
tension between the original definition, the
very name podcast with its link to the audio
-only iPod, and this new reality of it being
essentially on -demand television. So is it a
podcast if it's just audio anymore? I mean, are
you falling behind the curve if you don't have
cameras in your studio? It's just old fashioned
radio at that point. That's the big debate. And
it's not just philosophical. It's having real
tangible effects on the quality of the content,
especially for the people still listening the
old fashioned way. I was reading that piece in
The Guardian from, what, December 2025? They
had a great line. I know the one you mean. They
called it painful to hear. Painful to hear. And
they're not wrong. I have experienced this so
many times. I was in the car listening to a comedy
show, a big one, and they started reacting to
a video on their laptop. Oh, no. For a solid
10 minutes, it was just them laughing, pointing,
saying, oh, look at that. And I'm on the highway
just listening to dead air and confused giggling.
I felt completely left out. It alienates the
core audience. The audio first listener, the
person the medium was built for, is suddenly
an afterthought. You feel like you're eavesdropping
on a conversation you're not part of. It breaks
the theater of the mind. That's the perfect way
to put it. The theater of the mind is what made
audio so powerful. The host had to describe things
to paint a picture with words. Now, with cameras
rolling, it's easy to get lazy. You just hold
something up and say, look at this thing. And
half your audience has no idea what this thing
is. So you have this huge evolution in the front
end, in the consumption. But what's so fascinating
to me is that the back end, the technology under
the hood, is basically ancient by internet standards.
We're still running on tech from 2001. We are.
The humble, un - killable RSS feed, really simple
syndication. In a world of closed off algorithms
from TikTok and Instagram, these walled gardens,
the RSS feed is like this little cockroach that
just refuses to die. I think most people who
listen to podcasts probably don't even know what
RSS is or that they're using it every day. Can
we just break down how it actually works? Absolutely.
It's beautiful in its simplicity. Think of it
like a menu posted outside a restaurant. The
generator, which is us, the creators, we maintain
a simple text file on a server. That file is
just a list. Like a blog post. Exactly. It says,
here's the new episode, here's the title, here
are the show notes, and here is a link to the
MP3 file. That's basically it. And our app, the
client on our phone, is the customer. The customer.
So your app, whether it's Apple Podcasts or Spotify
or Overcast, it's programmed to essentially walk
by the restaurant every hour or so and check
the menu on the wall. Anything new today? No.
OK. An hour later. How about now? Oh, a new special.
Great. I'll download that. And that's the pull
versus push distinction, which is so important.
It's critical. A radio tower is push. It blasts
a signal out. And if you have a receiver, you
get it. But the government can shut down that
one tower and the signal is gone. It's centralized.
Very. But RSS is pull. We don't send you the
file. Your device requests it from our server.
It's a pull system. And that decentralization
is what makes it so resilient to censorship and
control. So it's this weird converged medium.
It takes the web for the text file, the audio
content, and the portable player, and it smashes
them all together. It removes the friction. But
before we had that, boy, did we have some failures.
The journey to this point is littered with false
starts. Which brings us to the origins, the happy
accident era from 2000 to 2004. This whole thing
feels so inevitable now, but it really wasn't.
Not at all. It was cobbled together. If you go
back to the prehistory, the year 2000, you see
these early attempts like a company called iTugo.
That name just screams dot -com bubble. It's
like pets .com for your ears. It really does.
Their service was called myaudio2go .com, and
the idea was actually brilliant, way ahead of
its time. They let you download news stories
from major sources to listen to on your PC or
on these clunky early MP3 players. It was podcasting.
So what happened? Why aren't we all using i2go
today? They were just too early. The MP3 players
were expensive and held like... Ten songs, internet
speeds were painfully slow, they burned through
all their money and were gone by 2001. But the
seed of the idea was planted. The idea of attaching
audio to a data feed. Exactly. And that's where
the real tech pioneers come in. A guy named Tristan
Louie first proposed the idea of attaching files
to RSS back in October 2000. But the person who
really built it was Dave Weiner. Dave Weiner.
He was one of the authors of the RSS format itself,
right? He was. And he implemented the crucial
piece of the puzzle, a little bit of code called
the enclosure tag. The magic tag. That's the
magic. It's just a line in the text file that
says, hey, web browser, just so you know, there's
a media file attached to this post. It's not
just text. Without that tag, you just have a
blog. With that tag, suddenly you have a podcast.
But Weiner was a developer. He built the plumbing,
but he wasn't a content guy. He needed someone
to, you know, turn on the water. He needed a
showman. He needed a front man. Enter the Godfather.
The guy with the hair from MTV, Adam Curry. It's
still so strange to me. The father of this decentralized
nerdy medium is a former MTV VJ. You'd think
it would be some radio engineer from NPR or the
BBC. But maybe that's why it worked. Curry understood
pop culture. He understood content. He wasn't
just a coder. I think that's exactly right. He
launched his show, Daily Source Code, in August
2004. And it wasn't just him talking about his
day. It was a meta show. He would chronicle his
life, but he would also talk in real time about
the development of the medium itself. He was
building the plane while flying it. And he was
inviting other people to help. He'd say on his
show, OK, I'm putting this MP3 file in Dave Weiner's
enclosure tag. Can any of you developers out
there write a script that can automatically find
it and download it for me? So he was crowdsourcing
the tools. He was. And it worked. He inspired
this whole community of pioneer podcasters and
developers. Because of his show, you get the
first user -friendly applications, the GUIs,
like a program called iPodderX by August Trometer.
It was the first app that... made it easy for
a non -technical person to subscribe to a feed.
Okay, so you have the tech, you have the godfather,
you have the first apps. Yeah. But you still
don't have a name for this thing. And this is
my favorite part of the story. The etymology.
Because podcast sounds so deliberate. It sounds
like something Steve Jobs cooked up in a marketing
meeting. But Apple had nothing to do with it.
Not a thing. In fact, the term podcast was being
used in the wild long before Apple ever officially
supported the feature in iTunes. They were late
to their own party. So who do we have to thank
for the name? A journalist named Ben Hammersley,
he was writing a piece for The Guardian in February
of 2004 trying to describe this new phenomenon.
And he was literally brainstorming names in the
article itself. He threw out a few options, right?
He did. He suggested audio blogging, which is,
you know, descriptive, but a bit dry. Very dry.
Then he suggested Guerrilla Media. Guerrilla
Media. I love that one. It sounds so much more
exciting. Welcome back to the deep dive at Guerrilla
Media production. It sounds like a pirate radio
station broadcasting from a hidden bunker. A
bit too intense, maybe? Probably. So what was
the third option? Almost as an afterthought,
he just mused, but what to call it? Audio blogging.
Podcasting. Guerrilla Media. He just threw it
out there. Podcasting. A combination of iPod
and broadcasting. And it just... Stuck. It stuck.
A guy named Danny Gregoire started using it in
the online audio blogging community. Adam Curry
heard it and picked it up for his show. And within
months, it was just the accepted term. Even though
it was based on a specific trademarked product
from a company that was notoriously protective
of its brand. Extremely risky. But the community
just ran with it. They didn't ask for permission.
And that created a huge, huge headache for the
legal department over in Cupertino. Which is
the perfect segue into the pod wars, the legal
battles, because Apple wasn't just going to sit
there and let a whole new. medium name itself
after their flagship product without a fight.
No, they were not. It started getting really
aggressive around 2006. Apple's lawyers started
sending out cease and desist letters. Other big
companies. No, that's the thing. They went after
small fish first. There was a company called
Podcast Ready Inc. And they got a letter basically
saying, hey, that word pod, that's ours. Stop
using it. Wait, hold on. Their argument was that
they owned the English word pod. The thing peas
come in. That was the core of it. I mean, it
sounds completely insane, but their legal argument
was based on the concept of secondary meaning.
What does that mean? It means that a common word
can become so famously associated with a specific
brand that it effectively becomes a trademark
in that context. Their argument was that the
iPod was so dominant, so world famous, that when
a consumer saw the word pod in an electronics
context, they would automatically think of Apple.
So they were trying to trademark IPodcast and
even just the word POD by itself. They wanted
to own the language of the entire ecosystem.
That was the goal. Control the language, control
the medium. But the pushback from the community
was massive. Bloggers, developers, early listeners,
everyone screamed bloody murder. And it was just
too late, wasn't it? The horse had already left
the barn. The word was already everywhere. The
BBC was talking about their podcasts. NPR was
using the term. It had become generic. And I
think Apple had a moment of realization. They
realized they might be about to kill the golden
goose. Exactly. They were attacking the very
medium that was giving people a reason to buy
iPods. If they killed the word, they might hurt
their own hardware sales. It was a very delicate
situation. So they backed down. Which is not
something Apple does very often. It was a very
strategic retreat. In late 2006, they put out
a statement. It was a masterpiece of legal doublespeak.
They said they didn't object to the generic use
of the word podcast to refer to the services.
But they also clarified that they did not license
the term either. It was their way of saying,
OK, you can use it for now, but don't think for
a second we don't still think we own it. It was
a stalemate, but for the community, it was a
huge win. The name was safe. But Apple wasn't
the only one trying to fence in the commons.
The story of Shea Spencer management is even
more absurd. Oh, this one is my favorite. This
is a classic case of what we now call trademark
trawling. In 2005, this LLC files an application
to trademark the word podcast. After it's already
in common use. That's like trying to trademark
the word internet today. Precisely. They wanted
to own the trademark for any online pre -recorded
radio program. And the U .S. Patent and Trademark
Office, the USPTO, they basically laughed them
out of the room. They rejected it. They rejected
it. But the reason they gave for the rejection
is the beautiful part. In their official ruling,
they cited the Wikipedia entry for the word podcast
as evidence. You're kidding. They used Wikipedia
in a legal decision. They did. They used it as
proof of prior art and generic usage. The ruling
essentially said, look, this public open source
encyclopedia that anyone can edit already says
this term is part of history. You're way too
late. That's incredible. It's like the open web
defending itself, a beautiful feedback loop.
It's perfect. But the trademark fights were in
a way just the opening act. The main event, the
fight that could have actually killed podcasting
was the patent troll. This is the part of the
story that really gets my blood boiling. The
saga of personal audio. It should. This was a
company that the Electronic Frontier Foundation,
the EFF, rightly labeled a patent troll. They
didn't make anything. They just owned patents
and sued people. And their claim was that they
had invented podcasting back in 1996. That was
the claim. They had a patent from 96 for a system
for disseminating media content. Now, the original
invention was about putting playlists on cassette
tapes to go with magazines. It had nothing to
do with the Internet or MP3s. But the language
was vague enough. The language was incredibly
vague. It talked about disseminating episodic
content and compiling playlists. They argued
that this covered podcasting and therefore every
single podcaster owed them a royalty. And they
didn't go after Apple or Spotify. They went after
the creators. That's the classic bully tactic.
In 2013, they started suing high profile shows.
They went after the Adam Carolla show. They sued
How Stuff Works. They picked targets that were
big enough to have some money, but not so big
they could afford a decade -long court battle.
That's terrifying. Imagine you're just a creator,
you build an audience, and suddenly you get a
letter demanding a cut of your revenue because
some shell company in Texas claims they invented
the concept of a series of audio files. It was
an existential threat to the entire medium. If
Personal Audio had won their case, it would have
set a precedent. Every podcaster, from the biggest
network to a teenager in their bedroom, might
have been legally required to pay a licensing
fee just to upload an episode. It would have
completely destroyed the independent spirit.
It would have turned it into a corporate licensed
industry overnight. It would have been the end.
And for a moment, it looked really dark. Adam
Carolla, facing millions in legal fees, decided
to settle in 2014. Which must have felt like
a huge loss for the community. The troll got
paid. It did. It felt like the bad guys were
winning, but the fight wasn't over. That's when
the EFF really stepped in. The heroes of the
story. Absolutely. The Electronic Frontier Foundation
filed a petition with the USPTO to have the patent
itself invalidated. They argued it was overly
broad and that the ideas in it were not new.
They started a crowdfunding campaign to pay for
the legal fees and went hunting for prior art.
Proof that these ideas existed before 1996. Exactly.
And they found it. They found examples from academic
projects from early Internet radio, all showing
that the concept of episodic audio was not some
novel invention by this one company. And the
patent office agreed. They did. In April 2015,
the USPTO invalidated the five key provisions
of the patent they were using to sue people.
They ruled that the patent was essentially worthless.
It was a massive, massive victory. It's just
a huge what if moment in Internet history. If
the EFF hadn't won that fight, this conversation
we're having right now might not be possible
or we'd be paying a royalty to have it. It's
that significant. It kept the medium open. OK,
so podcasting survived the wars. It survived
the trademark grabs and the patent trolls. But
it was still pretty niche. When did it actually
go mainstream? When did it become something your
parents had heard of? The date you want to circle
on your calendar is June 2005. That was the turning
point. And what happened in June 2005? Apple
released iTunes 4 .9. An iTunes update. That
seems so mundane. Why was that specific update
so important? Because before iTunes 4 .9, listening
to a podcast was, frankly, a pain. You had to
be a bit of a nerd. You had to find the RSS feed
URL, which was this long string of text. You
have to copy it, open a separate program like
iPodder, paste the URL in, download the file,
then plug your iPod into your computer and manually
drag the MP3 file over. It was like a six step
process. The barrier to entry was huge. It was.
iTunes 4 .9 changed everything. It added a podcast.
directory right into the iTunes store suddenly
you didn't need to know what RSS was you just
browsed a directory saw a show you liked and
clicked subscribe one click one click and the
next time you sync your iPod the new episodes
were just there it completely removed the technical
fiction it opened the floodgates to millions
of regular non -technical users and once you
have an audience you get stars we have to talk
about Ricky Gervais the first true podcasting
superstar In 2006, after the success of The Office,
he, Stephen Merchant, and Carl Pilkington took
their old radio show and turned it into a podcast.
The Ricky Gervais Show. But they did something
really radical at the time. They charged for
it. They put it on audible .co .uk and changed
95 pence per episode. Which seems so wild now
in a world of free ad -supported shows. But it
worked. It worked spectacularly. It proved that
people were willing to open their wallets for
high -quality audio content, and the numbers
it did were just mind -boggling for the time.
By 2011, it had over 300 million unique downloads.
And that led to a little bit of a rivalry, didn't
it, with Adam Carolla back in the U .S.? A little
bit of a friendly rivalry, yeah. Adam Carolla's
show was also getting massive numbers, and at
one point he claimed the Guinness World Record
for the most downloaded podcast with something
like 60 million downloads. Gervais' show had
way more than that. It had five times that. But
Guinness seemed to have ignored the UK numbers
or maybe the data wasn't submitted properly.
It just highlighted how much of a Wild West it
still was. No one really knew how to accurately
count listeners or compare shows globally. The
metrics were a mess. A total mess. Is it downloaded?
Listen, what if someone downloads it but never
plays it? The industry is still arguing about
that today. But regardless of who held the record,
by 2007 it was clear. Podcasting was doing what
radio had done for decades, but without the limitations.
It was officially a disruptive medium. Radio
is built on scarcity. There are only so many
frequencies on the FM dial. That scarcity makes
the licenses valuable, and it leads to very mainstream,
advertiser -friendly programming. But the internet...
has infinite shelf space infinite shelf space
you can have a million podcasts that fractures
the audience into a million tiny niches which
is a nightmare for traditional advertising models
but it's amazing for listeners speaking of all
those niches let's talk about how the content
itself started to evolve because for a long time
the stereotype was just two guys talking about
movies the two dudes in a basement trope and
look there was a lot of that But very quickly,
people started to push the boundaries of what
an audio show could be. The biggest evolution,
I think, was the rebirth of the audio drama.
Fiction podcasts, movies for your ears. Exactly.
This wasn't just an audio book with one narrator.
This was a return to the golden age of radio
plays from the 1930s and 40s. Full cast, sound
effects, original music. It was incredibly ambitious.
And it started attracting some serious talent.
The source has mentioned actors like Demi Moore
and Matthew McConaughey lending their voices
to these projects. It wasn't just indie productions
anymore. Major Hollywood studios got into the
game. Marvel launched The Wolverine, The Long
Night series, DC, Netflix, Spotify. They all
started creating these high -budget cinematic
audio experiences. There was that interesting
data point about the pandemic, too. When lockdown
started, a lot of podcast listening went down
because people weren't commuting. Right. The
drive time audience vanished overnight. But fiction
podcasts saw a huge spike. Their downloads jumped
something like 19 percent. Which makes perfect
sense. We were all trapped at home, anxious,
staring at the same four walls. The last thing
we wanted was more news. We wanted escapism.
Pure escapism. And audio can be even more immersive
than video sometimes. When you're watching a
movie, you see the edges of the set. In an audio
drama, the monster is as big and as terrifying
as your own imagination can make it. Then there
are other formats, like the podcast novel. A
really clever strategy. Authors like Scott Sigler
would serialize their novels, releasing one chapter
a week as a free podcast. They'd build up a huge
loyal audience. And then use that audience to
get a publishing deal. Exactly. They'd go to
a publisher and say, look, I have 50 ,000 people
who listen to every episode. They're guaranteed
customers if you print this book. flipped the
publishing model on its head. I also remember
the enhanced podcasts or slidecasts. I had an
old iPod that could do that. The artwork would
change to show you a picture or a graph while
you were listening. It was a great idea, especially
for education. Apple even patented a technology
in 2012 called audio hyperlinking. It was supposed
to embed these inaudible sonic pulses into the
audio. Inaudible pulses. That sounds like something
out of a spy movie. It does. The idea was these
pulses would trigger actions on your device.
So a professor could record a lecture, and as
they say, and as you can see on this slide, the
pulse would automatically make the correct slide
appear on your screen. Why did that never really
take off? Honestly. Video just got easier and
cheaper. Once streaming from YouTube became ubiquitous,
why bother with a clunky slide cast when you
can just watch a full video of the lecture? It
was a solution for a problem that bandwidth eventually
solved. Okay, so the content is evolving, the
tech is stabilizing, but we have to look at the
global picture. This stopped being just a North
American and European thing very quickly. It
really did. The growth internationally has been
explosive. You look at China, for instance. By
2023, there were over 220 million podcast listeners
there. It's a colossal market. And India is the
third largest market in the world. Around 95
million monthly listeners back in 2021, and it's
only grown since. But for me, the most interesting
statistic is market penetration. as in what percentage
of the actual population is listening. Right.
And the world leader there, by a long shot, is
South Korea. In 2020, a survey found that 58%,
nearly 6 out of 10 people, had listened to a
podcast in the last month. 58%. That's incredible.
The U .S. was, what, half that at the time? Less
than half. Spain also has huge penetration, around
40%. It shows how deeply embedded it's become
in the culture in some parts of the world. What's
the driving force behind that? Why did it grow
so big so fast globally? It comes back to that
low barrier to entry. To start a radio station,
you need a government license. A transmission
tower? Millions of dollars. To start a podcast,
you need a decent microphone, a computer, and
some basic software. And maybe some blankets
on the wall for acoustic quieting. The official
term for recording in your closet. I think every
podcaster has a closet era. It's a rite of passage.
But that rawness, that intimacy, is actually
part of the appeal. That's why public figures
started flocking to it. Absolutely. The New York
Times had a great piece on this in 2025. They
argued that long form podcast interviews had
basically replaced the late night talk show or
the magazine cover story as the go to place for
a major interview. Is that because it's a friendlier
environment or because they have more control?
I think it's a bit of both, but mostly it's about
the format. If you go on a late night show, you
get. what, six minutes between commercials. You
tell a pre -approved anecdote and you're done.
It's a performance. Whereas on a podcast, you
can sit down for two or three hours. You can
relax. You can have a real meandering, candid
conversation. It feels more authentic, both for
the guest and for the listener. It creates that
strange parasocial relationship where you feel
like you actually know the hosts. And that parasocial
bond is the currency of the entire podcast economy.
Which brings us to the final piece of the puzzle.
The money. How did this thing finally figure
out how to make money? The great revenue puzzle.
Because for a very long time, the story was that
podcasting was hugely popular but generated almost
no revenue. That was the narrative as recently
as 2019. Advertisers were hesitant. The tracking
was poor. They couldn't be sure if people were
actually hearing their ads or just hitting the
skip button. So the creators had to get creative.
They did. They pioneered new models. The most
important one was probably direct support through
platforms like Patreon, crowdfunding. The buy
me a coffee model. Exactly. Suddenly, you didn't
need a million listeners to make a living. If
you had a thousand true fans who were willing
to chip in $5 a month, you had a sustainable
career. It allowed for incredibly neat shows
to thrive without needing a mattress sponsor.
And then came the live shows, the touring model.
Podcasters realized they had built these passionate
communities who would actually pay money to see
them live. Shows like My Favorite Murder or The
Dollops started selling out thousand seat theaters.
They became legitimate touring acts like rock
bands. And so we've come full circle. We have
a thriving industry. We have multiple revenue
models. And we're back where we started this
conversation. The video paradox. The great blurring
of the lines. Is a creator a YouTuber or a podcaster?
In 2026, that distinction is almost meaningless.
Web TV shows are distributed as video podcasts.
Vodcasts are no longer the exception. They're
the norm for any big show. We started with audio
blogging, a rebellion against mainstream media,
fought tooth and nail to keep it open and audio
focused, and somehow we've ended up... basically
creating our own version of on -demand television.
But it's still different, isn't it, the spirit
of it? Even with cameras, a video podcast doesn't
feel like a polished network TV show. It doesn't.
The structure is still there. The long, authentic
conversation, the niche focus, it still feels
like you're just listening in on two people in
a room trying to figure something out. The cameras
are just there to capture it. So when we look
back at this whole journey from guerrilla media
to a billion -user video platform, what's the
big takeaway? that the open web can win. This
was a medium born from open standards, RSS, MP3s,
a decentralized network. And every time a corporation
tried to lock it down, the community fought back
and won. Apple tried to own the name. They failed.
The patent trolls tried to own the technology.
They failed. It's a testament to the resilience
of a simple, open idea. And its power comes from
serving the niches. The long tale that Chris
Anderson wrote about. Exactly. No TV executive
in their right mind would green light a weekly
show about, I don't know, the history of concrete.
or mycology, but there's a podcast for that,
and it can find its audience anywhere in the
world and be successful. That's the magic. It
is. Okay, so I want to leave our listener with
a final thought to chew on, something to mull
over. That's right. In this world we now live
in, where a billion people are watching podcasts,
have we lost something? Have we sacrificed that
original magic, the theater of the mind, in exchange
for more engagement and bigger ad dollars? Or
have we just reinvented television, but this
time on our own terms, without the suits and
the gatekeepers telling us what we're allowed
to make? That's the billion -dollar question,
isn't it? I think as long as the core of it remains
an authentic conversation, the medium will be
fine, whether there's a camera in the room or
not. I certainly hope so. If you enjoyed this
deep dive, please consider rating or reviewing
the show. And hey, maybe start your own. All
you really need is a microphone, a closet, and
something you're passionate about. Thanks for
listening. Or for watching. We'll see you next
time.